


Daddy Issues

by octopizzy



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Daddy Issues, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopizzy/pseuds/octopizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an unfortunate incident involving Malcolm's Honor staff, Hawke and Fenris have a talk about fathers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy Issues

**Author's Note:**

> despite the fact that I hate the phrase "daddy issues" i kinda thought it was the perfect title  
> I really just wanted something that had Fenris talk about his father bc it's implied that he wasn't him n Varania's lives and i liked that contrast with Hawke, who's entire life revolved around his father

 

They were two days from their destination when Hawke’s staff broke. It happened during a scuffle with some idiotic bandits who seemed to think the Champion of Kirkwall and the Tevinter fugitive would be easy bounties. Granted, they didn’t exactly know that they were facing said men, but as soon as the bandits had attempted to ambush the pair in their small makeshift camp, one of the men announced that he recognized their faces from the wanted posters in town. And so a very short battle had ensued between a powerful battle mage, his lyrium-infused warrior companion, and eight idiots with swords. 

Hawke was finishing off the last of the opponents with one of his favorite moves-twirling his staff with both hands before slamming the end to the ground in order to produce a powerful bolt of electricity-when the polished wooden rod splintered in the middle and split in half. The mage was so stunned by this happening that he didn’t notice the last bandit taking this pause in combat to flee in fear-likely towards the nearest town. Fenris, however, definitely noticed, and since he wasn’t looking forward to any repercussions from said criminal screaming all about the mage and glowing elf just outside the town’s borders, the bandit was met swiftly with a dagger thrown into the back of his head. 

“Hawke!” Fenris let down his calm facade of battle and rushed to the human’s side, his eyes searching for something wrong, some sort of injury. When he saw the staff, now broken into two pieces, his face fell. An injury he could deal with easily, but this? “You don’t need your staff to cast, right?” he tried, “And you’re not... _completely_ worthless with a sword.”

The human continued to stare at the two broken ends of the staff in his large hands, and Fenris couldn’t read the expression on his face. In fact, there was no expression; his eyes were blank and his facial muscles relaxed and unmoving. The warrior thought of his own sword and what he would do if it broke. It was the Blade of Mercy Hawke had gifted him during those few blissful months in Kirkwall before chaos consumed the city. It was a good sword, but that was not why he kept it; it was the sentiment behind the object that mattered, the memories attached to the cold steel. Fenris’ ears perked up as he connected the dots. Sentiment. 

“That was your father’s staff,” he spoke carefully in a neutral tone. He didn’t want to set Hawke off. Malcolm’s Honour Staff was what Hawke called it, the beautiful wooden staff with the carving of Andraste at its head. The rod itself was a golden wood, carved intricately with a scale-like pattern, a thick silver blade attached at the bottom by red cloth. At the other end was a nude Andraste, hands spread out by her sides and head looking up to the heavens, the international symbol for “mage” framing her body. At first it had reminded Fenris of the images of Andraste in the Imperial Chantry; the Bride of the Maker was always depicted as a mage in Tevinter, something the South violently opposed. After a comment from Isabela about “holy tits,” Hawke had explained why his father carried such an elaborate staff: after escaping the Circle and fleeing to Ferelden with Leandra, Malcolm fashioned this staff specifically with the image of the Bride at its head, which guaranteed that if Templars caught up with him, they could not burn it, for it was illegal to deface any depiction of Andraste. Fenris now knew where Hawke’s wit came from, at least.

“I will get it fixed,” Hawke finally spoke, breaking the silence between the two men and pulling Fenris out of his thoughts. The mage disappeared into the small cloth tent beside them, emerging with one of their blankets. He carefully wrapped the two pieces in the cloth and secured the bundle tightly to his pack.

“Hawke we are two days from Amaranthine,” Fenris put a hand gently on his lover’s muscular shoulder, “I don’t think we’re going to find any mage-friendly workshops willing to help an apostate until we meet up with our contacts.”

“I will get it fixed,” Hawke hissed, shrugging off Fenris’ hand and placing his pack back on the ground. Fenris opened his mouth to object but thought better of it, cursing Hawke’s stubborn nature under his breath. 

The pair worked in complete silence as Hawke piled the bodies of the fallen bandits a good amount away from their camp before setting them aflame, while Fenris gathered wood for their own fire and retrieved the dagger from the runaway bandit’s corpse. When he returned to the camp with a pile of large sticks, he found Hawke had retreated to the tent. Fenris dropped the firewood by the stones they were beginning to assemble before they were attacked, and joined the human. 

Hawke was lying on his back, looking at the canvas ceiling of the tent, his hands folded on his chest. It made Fenris uncomfortable to see his lover like this; Hawke was usually so full of life and laughter, making jokes out of everything. The only other time he’d seen Hawke get this bad was after Leandra’s death. 

The elf crawled next to the human and turned onto his side, gently stroking Hawke’s arm. If he didn’t know what to say to fix things, then he would comfort the man in silence. They lay there together for a while, the only sounds were that of breathing, and birds chirping outside. 

“You don’t ever talk about your father,” Hawke broke the silence finally, and Fenris was taken aback by the comment.

“I know nothing of him,” Fenris replied, narrowing his eyes and trying to discern an emotion, any emotion, in his lover’s face, “Even as my memories slowly return to me, there is no face that I associate with that title.” 

“Are you ever curious about him?” Hawke asked, turning his head to face the elf, “Even just a little?”

“Despite my desire for more knowledge of my former life, I find myself having no attachment to the concept of a father at all,” Fenris admitted, “Honestly, before now, I’ve never really thought about it.”

“So you don’t feel any sort of loss?” Hawke turned his body completely to face the other man, “Like something is missing in your life?”

“I suspect that even before I lost my memories, I felt the same way,” the elf sighed, “I think...I think I grew up without him. I recall Varania as a child, my mother, even some other slaves I called friends. But nothing related to my father.”

“Is that common in Tevinter?” So it’s going to be that kind of night, Fenris thought to himself. Usually he didn’t cooperate whenever Hawke wished to dig into his history, but Fenris knew he didn’t mean any harm, and if this was going to comfort the human, so be it. 

“I suppose so,” Fenris began, taking a deep breath and adjusting his resting position, “In Tevinter, slaves are bred like dogs. You want a fighting dog? You breed two strong slaves with a family history of fighting on both sides. Same thing goes for field workers, farmhands, etc. If you want a lap dog, you breed two pretty purebreds with good blood lines. This is why you get the variation in traits, unlike the dalish or city elves. You can tell a Tevinter elf from a southern elf just by appearance alone.”

“What about you? I mean you’re strong even without the lyrium activated, but I think most people would agree with me when I say you’re extremely easy on the eyes.” Fenris chuckled, his heart warming at the lighthearted tone of Hawke’s voice. 

“Well my few memories of my mother have her working in the gardens, and Varania worked in the house when we got older, I believe. I remember being in the fields sometimes, or working the stables. As for my life as Fenris, most of my time was spent as a...lap dog, I guess,” Fenris snorted, “At least one with a vicious bite, and I suited that life perfectly fine according to everything I’ve experienced. I think it’s safe to assume I have a mix of traits.”

“I’ve always had a thing for mutts,” Hawke smirked and reached for the elf, holding him close and then rolling onto his back, pulling the smaller man on top of him with ease. Fenris propped his chin up on Hawke’s chest and gave him a warm smile as the human kissed his forehead. He gave a silent prayer thanking the Maker that Hawke seemingly felt better. 

“What about your father?” Fenris felt a little bolder now, thinking maybe getting Hawke to talk about Malcolm would ease his pain. At first, the mage’s face twisted into a grimace, but as Fenris stroked his dark hair, his expression softened and he relaxed. 

“Apparently I am the spitting image of him, especially when I’ve been in the sun a little too long,” Hawke let out a deep breath, “After he died, people in Lothering kept mistaking me for him, sometimes jumping because they thought they’d seen a ghost. I laughed it off, taking it as a compliment, but sometimes I could tell that Mother was purposefully avoiding me because she couldn’t stand to look at my face.” Hawke fell into silence, getting that distant look again, his usually warm brown eyes growing colder.

“Must have been a very handsome man,” Fenris tried to pull him back out of the darkness, and it seemed to work. The elf was met with another smile and a sigh before the human continued to speak.

“He used to greet my mother every morning by picking her up and twirling her around, bellowing ‘Good morning, my darling!’ Mother never tired of it. Even when she was cross with him. He looked at her like she was the sun itself, like without her, he wouldn’t be able to live. He was a good man, a great father, and a great mage. You would have liked him. Well, besides the fact that he was an evil mage human.”

“Mm I like you even though you’re an evil mage human,” Fenris smirked. Despite initially being wary of Hawke due to his magic, Fenris was honestly glad he was a mage. If anything, it had made their love even stronger because the relationship required so much trust and understanding. Fenris had every reason to hate Hawke after all, he was a man, a human, and a mage, just like his former master. But Hawke was nothing like Danarius, and Fenris had often caught himself comparing the two at certain moments in his life. The darker part of him wanted to pick at old wounds, rub it in his own face that he had chosen yet again to follow a powerful male human mage. But Hawke’s love, respect, and kindness had taught Fenris to ignore that part of him, and he was a better man for it.

The elf sometimes wondered how much Hawke reflected his father. He, too could see it in Leandra’s eyes sometimes; the expression on her face as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Do you think I’d look good without my beard?” Hawke yanked Fenris from his thoughts once again, “I imagine I’d look rather like Carver.”

“Maybe I should have married your brother instead then,” Fenris teased, “Wouldn’t have had to deal with all that pesky magic.”

“Ugh stop you’re going to make me vomit,” the human pretended to gag but then he laughed and Fenris felt the vibrations throughout his body. 

“He does have a thing for elves too,” Fenris continued his jest, “What is it with the Hawke brothers and elves?”

“I do not have a thing for elves, excuse you,” Hawke stuck out his tongue like a child, “And neither does Carver. You and Merrill just happen to tug on our heartstrings. And push every single one of our...love buttons.”

“Love buttons?”

“Love buttons,” Hawke grinned. He pulled Fenris up higher and kissed him gently. Fenris held Hawke’s face in his hands and smiled against his lips as Hawke wrapped his large arms around him. “I always wanted them to get together. Have lots of cute babies. Guess the warden thing kind of ruined that for me but y’know, maybe they’ll shack up. Follow in our foot steps. I bet we’d have cute babies,” Hawke pulled away from the kiss and yawned, resting his head back and closing his eyes.

“You...you wanted to have children, didn’t you?” Fenris whispered against Hawke’s neck. This was new territory entirely and Fenris felt his stomach churn slightly.

“Of course,” Hawke replied without opening his eyes, “Lots of them. It seems that helping raise Bethany and Carver didn’t do anything to spoil that dream either. Just made me want to feel how my father looked when the twins were born.”

“Well then, I am sorry,” Fenris sighed, the knot in his stomach getting tighter. Hawke opened his eyes and lifted his head up, prompting Fenris to sit up, straddling Hawke’s lower torso.

“Sorry?” Hawke furrowed his brows, “Fenris what in the world would you have to be sorry about?”

“I cannot bear you children,” Fenris kept his gaze on Hawke’s chest rather than meeting his eyes. 

“So? There’s not just one way to...obtain a child, Fen,” Hawke frowned. Fenris clenched his fists at his side and shifted his hips. “Even so, I don’t have a pressing need to have children. It is simply something I wanted, nothing more.”

“Is what you want not important?” 

“No! Of course not!” Hawke exclaimed, “Not if it’s not what you want too! Fenris, even if I desperately wanted children, which I don’t-at least not desperately, I would throw that all aside for you. I could have twelve fucking kids and still be miserable if you weren’t a part of my life.”

“I thought...I thought you’d want to continue the Hawke name,” Fenris bit his lip hard. All of this had never occurred to him before. In Tevinter, having a sexual relationship with same-sexed favored slaves was encouraged mainly because it could not produce any illegitimate children. 

“I-I don’t...Fenris,” Hawke let out a deep sigh. He reached up to cup Fenris’ face gently and tilt his head up so their eyes could meet. “It’s just a name, sweetheart. Blood lines don’t mean shit to me. My father would have been proud that the Hawke name ended with us, really. As long as we’re happy. And I’m happy, are you?”

“Yes, the happiest I have ever been” Fenris smiled, feeling Hawke’s thumb gently stroke his cheek, “But-”

“Besides,” the human interrupted, “If we had to worry about producing kids, we couldn’t fuck each other to pieces nearly as much as we do now.” A grin spread across Hawke’s face as a flush appeared on Fenris’ face and on the tips of his ears. Hawke slid his hands down the elf’s body and settled his hands on the elf’s slender hips, rubbing his thumbs against the hip bones. 

“Garrett Hawke,” Fenris breathed “You are playing dirty.”

“Mm not as dirty as I’d like to be playing right now,” Hawke reached up to touch one of Fenris’ ears, rubbing the pointed tip gently between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a shudder from the elf. 

“Not fair,” Fenris huffed, but his eyes were closed and his hips were pushing against Hawke’s touch. Hawke slid both hands under the elf’s soft breeches and grabbed at his behind. “I’m...mmph...glad you’re feeling better, Hawke.”

“Mmmhmm,” Hawke pulled Fenris forward by his arse, causing friction between their groins. 

“And I’m sorry...ungh...about your staff, we’ll get it fixed.”

“That’s not the _staff_ I’m concerned with right now,” Hawke chuckled as he palmed at the elf’s hardness. Fenris arched forward with a whimper. 

“Aaah...you’re…mmph...despicable.”

“You love it.”

…

Fenris woke up at dawn, as usual, and left Hawke fast asleep in the tent. He stretched out his tired muscles and sat in front of the fire pit that was never made due to a night of spontaneous love-making. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since before the staff-incident yesterday afternoon. Fenris sighed and stood up, internally debating whether to go deeper into the forest they were in and hunt a rabbit or two, or if he should dare to venture into the nearby town for some real breakfast. Before he could decide, he heard Hawke waking up in the canvas tent behind him. He turned around to see the man emerge from the cloth front, his hair a tousled mess and his eyes still squinting against the light. Hawke faced Fenris for a moment before grinning wide, suddenly picking Fenris up and twirling him around. 

“Good morning my darling!”


End file.
